


You Look Good in My Shirt

by sunlightdances (glowinghorizons)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Smut, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 08:27:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16761571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/sunlightdances
Summary: You’ve changed into a pair of boxers and a t-shirt and are cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through your laptop with your reading glasses on, and after a few minutes, you startle when Dean’s sweater comes flying at you from across the room.Looking up, you blink at him questioningly.“You have goosebumps.” He says, barely looking up at you, though you’re pretty sure the tips of his ears are red.You are a little cold – traveling with the Winchesters means the air conditioning is always on full blast wherever you go in the summer. You smile at him, shrugging the cream colored cardigan on over your t-shirt, leaving the buttons undone.It swamps you – the sleeves go well past your hands and you sigh happily as warmth starts to seep back into your bones. When you look up, Dean’s watching you, his eyes a little unfocused. You try not to shiver under the weight of his stare, and he seems to come back to himself when you clear your throat, adjusting your glasses.





	You Look Good in My Shirt

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime in the vague present when there aren’t any major threats. The reader borrowing Dean’s sweater causes Dean to have some feels and finally make a move. No major triggers except the vague mention of a salt & burn. Smut is fairly vanilla.

“It’s not _that_ funny.” Dean grumbles, glaring at you, as the three of you get out of the car, getting ready to interview a witness. You’ve been giggling at the sight of Dean in a cable-knit cardigan since he came out of the bathroom this morning, even though part of you wonder if it’s as soft as it looks, and if– _no_.

“It’s a little funny,” you counter, straightening your skirt. 

“Can we just get this over with?” Sam asks, and you try to stop smiling.

A little under twenty minutes later, you’re heading back to the car, and Dean is already loosening his tie. 

“Wait until we get in the car, at least.” You say, looking back towards the house where, sure enough, the new widow they’ve just interviewed is watching them go. 

Dean scowls, a crease appearing between his eyebrows. “I hate wearing sweaters.” 

You laugh then, unable to keep it in. “How can you _hate_ a sweater?” 

“It’s itchy!” 

“God. You’re such a baby.” 

The two of you continue to banter like this until you get back to the motel to do some research. This is a pretty simple salt and burn, you think, but there’s still some work to be done to figure out what the ghost’s motive is. 

You’ve changed into a pair of boxers and a t-shirt and are cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through your laptop with your reading glasses on, and after a few minutes, you startle when Dean’s sweater comes flying at you from across the room. 

Looking up, you blink at him questioningly.

“You have goosebumps.” He says, barely looking up at you, though you’re pretty sure the tips of his ears are red. 

You _are_ a little cold – traveling with the Winchesters means the air conditioning is always on full blast wherever you go in the summer. You smile at him, shrugging the cream colored cardigan on over your t-shirt, leaving the buttons undone. 

It swamps you – the sleeves go well past your hands and you sigh happily as warmth starts to seep back into your bones. When you look up, Dean’s watching you, his eyes a little unfocused. You try not to shiver under the weight of his stare, and he seems to come back to himself when you clear your throat, adjusting your glasses.

“Thanks.” You say, hoping to break the tension. “I always forget how you guys like your room to be like the arctic tundra.” 

“Yeah, well.” Dean murmurs. “You don’t have to be miserable. Just say something next time.”

You don’t answer – you’re too distracted by discovering that you were _right_. This cardigan is unbearably soft, and you’re trying to think of how you can smuggle it into your bag instead of back into his before you guys part ways when the hunt is over.

“I’m going to go check out that vending machine.” You tell Dean and Sam as you stand up and stretch your cramped muscles, slipping your flip flops on your feet before you go outside, unconsciously tugging Dean’s sweater tighter around you as the cool night air hits you. 

You get a soda and some snacks and turn back to head into the room, startling when you nearly run smack into Dean. “Good _lord_ –” you half-gasp, free hand flying up to cover your pounding heart. 

“Sorry.” Dean says, but he doesn’t _look_ sorry. In fact, he looks _smug_ , the idiot, and he’s chuckling at you. “Get anything good?” 

You narrow your eyes at him, sensing an ulterior motive. He’s positively _towering_ over you, and there’s this look in his eye that you haven’t seen before, at least not up close. “Okay, what’s your deal?” You blurt. _Smooth_ , you chastise yourself. 

“No deal.” He says, shrugging one shoulder. He takes one step closer to you, then two. Your chests are almost pressed together, and you hate the way your heart immediately starts racing. You know what he’s doing.

The two of you have been dancing around _something_ for the better part of the last six months, and you should have known that he would pick up on it sooner or later. It makes your heart pound to think that maybe he’s as tired of pretending as you are.

“Are you warm?” He asks, and your brain almost short-circuits when he lifts a hand and gently brushes a stray piece of hair out of your eyes. 

“W-what?” You ask, a little breathlessly, your eyes taking in the freckles on his cheeks and the fact that his mouth is less than a few inches away from yours. 

“With my sweater.” He clarifies. “Are you warm enough?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so, I–” you stop immediately as soon as his hand makes contact with your waist, the pressure light enough to be casual, but you know it’s deliberate. 

“Looks good on you.” He says, his voice a low rumble. His hand moves more deliberately now, fingers creeping up until they slide under the fabric of the cardigan, the heat of his palm almost searing through the thin material of your t-shirt. 

“Yeah?” You ask, feeling a bit of your confidence come back. 

He makes a noise of agreement, his nose brushing against your jaw, causing your eyes to fall shut. “Knew it was a mistake the minute I tossed it to you.” His mouth moves against your ear, and your knees start to feel weak. “I didn’t think it all the way through, see.” 

“Hindsight is always 20/20,” you manage, your arm winding around his waist, encouraging him to come closer. He does, his hips bumping lightly against yours.

“Mhmm.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss just below your ear. You shudder. “I didn’t think about how much I would like seeing you in my clothes.” He tells you, his voice almost a growl. His knee slides in between your legs, and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips. 

“Dean–” You start to say something, anything, to tell him that you are totally on board with whatever is about to go down here, but he beats you to it, pressing his mouth against yours in a kiss that you feel all the way down to your toes. 

His mouth slides over yours like you’ve been doing it for years, and when you open your mouth, he doesn’t hesitate. The kiss gets a little deep, a little filthy, and you both groan simultaneously as he presses his hips into yours once, twice, three times. 

Your hands go to his hair, threading through the sandy blonde strands, holding him in place as you arch against him, and when you break away from the kiss, you’re both panting, pupils dilated. 

“C’mere.” He says quietly, grabbing your hand and tugging, pulling you along behind him. You drop your snacks and soda, not really caring about what happens to them. He can owe you five dollars. 

You have to practically run to keep up with his long strides, and have to really fight your instincts not to practically swoon when he switches up his grip, his fingers threading with yours as he grins at you over his shoulder. 

He throws open the door to the motel room, and you barely have half a mind to ask where Sam is before his mouth is on yours again, his tongue sweeping through your mouth causing your mind to go blank. Both his arms are around your waist now, almost bending you backwards with the strength that they hold you to him with. 

“Sam’s at the library.” He says, looking at you with dark eyes and a swollen mouth, and you swear you’ve never seen anything so beautiful in your entire life. 

“Thank god.” You whisper, and then it’s your turn to tug him closer, your mouth going to his neck, placing open-mouthed kisses up and down the long column, moaning when his one hand slides lower to encourage your movement against his body and the other goes to your hair, the pressure just enough to cause sparks to sizzle down your spine. 

“ _God_ –” he chokes out, and you file away that reaction for later, pausing a moment to grin at him as you urge him to sit on the edge of the bed, immediately straddling him once he sits down. 

His hands smooth up your thighs and he scratches his blunt nails against them on his way back down, causing a whine to escape your throat. 

“Jesus fuck, kid.” He groans, looking absolutely delighted at the sounds he’s pulling from you. “Been wanting this forever.” 

“Yeah? Tell me.” You say, feeling bold. 

He mouths his way along your jaw, his tongue tracing patterns against your skin that you think you’ll feel for _days_. “Every fuckin’ time we see you, I swear you’ve gotten more gorgeous.” 

You huff out a laugh, and he actually looks offended. “I’m serious.” He lifts you up gently, looking you in the eyes as he tugs at your boxer shorts before getting the O.K. from you to slide them off completely. He groans quietly as you settle back down onto him. “It’s not just how you look, either.” He tells you, his voice like gravel. “Sometimes you just– you buy me birthday cards and send Sam care packages, and you call to make sure we’re eating regular meals, and I just–” 

“Dean,” you say, but it comes out a plea. You don’t know what you’re asking for, just that you _need_ his mouth back on you. 

“There’s the moment we see each other for the first time in months, too.” He continues, his hands sliding up under your shirt and causing goosebumps to break out across your torso as his lips fall to your collarbone, nudging aside the collar of his cardigan with his nose. “You give me this _smile_. I can’t explain it, but it makes me want to press you up against the nearest wall and show you how much I miss you when we’re apart.” 

“Christ, Dean–” 

“Wanted to take you a million times,” he slurs, “but there was always some crisis, and we just never–” 

“I know, I know,” you chant against him, almost delirious with pleasure as his hand slides between your legs, causing you to buck up against him. “It’s the same for me. It is.” 

His eyes are dark but sparkling when they meet yours, and this time his fingers have a purpose when they touch you, rubbing over where you’re already soaked for him, causing a small cry to erupt from your mouth. “Tell me what you want. Tell me, and I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you anything you want right now, just–” he cuts himself off, maybe noticing the desperation in his own voice, and you melt against him when he slides a finger inside of you. 

“Just don’t stop.” You tell him, and he breathes out your name as you frantically scrabble to get his shirt off his shoulders. Here you are, practically naked in his lap, and he’s still fully clothed. 

Your head falls against his shoulder at the next thrust of his fingers, and he chuckles softly. “Easy.” He says, and you want to smack him. 

“I swear, if you don’t get your pants off in the next minute, I’m going to leave you here.” You threaten, and his eyes darken. 

“Oh yeah?” He asks, and then he flips you, hovering over you on the bed as you let out a _super_ attractive yelp. 

“Dean.” You breathe. “Pants.” 

“Yep.” He agrees, standing up and shucking his remaining clothes faster than you’ve ever seen anyone move. He looks like he’s going to try to go down on you, and the thought leaves your blood running hot, but you can’t wait for another second, and you grab his bicep, getting his attention.

“Later. Later, please. I need you.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yes. Yes, I’m sure. I want you, and I don’t want to wait anymore, so please, Dean. Please.” 

He moves towards his bag to grab a condom, and when he comes back, his eyes are hungry as they look over you spread out underneath him. “Gonna make you feel good.” He promises, and you nod, finding his mouth again. 

He just kisses you for awhile, almost until you want to push him away and tell him to get on with it. He’s just– he’s so _good_ and not just like this. It’s all the time, and you can see the way he feels for you in his eyes. It’s almost too much. 

When he laces his fingers with yours and slides inside of you with one quick stroke, he chokes out a groan while you keen, arching your back. 

“God, yes.” He mutters before he’s moving, setting a pace just the other side of slow. It’s not _fast_ but it’s just enough to make you writhe underneath him, your left hand laced with his right, and your free hand gripping the sheets underneath you. “You feel so fucking good.” He tells you hoarsely, and you nod, unable to say anything. 

You get there pretty quickly, surprising even yourself, but Dean seems to be right behind you, though he’s determined to get you off. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he says, the term of endearment slipping out. “Let me see it. I wanna see it.” 

“Yes–” You choke out, “Dean, please–” 

His fingers reach down to where you’re joined, and that’s all it takes for your orgasm to crash over you, causing you to arch against him one final time, your name escaping him on a groan as he finishes, too. 

“Sweet Jesus.” He says, after, when he’s flopped over on the bed next to you, though his legs are still tangled with yours. 

“I swear I won’t make fun of your sweaters anymore.” You say, a little breathless, and the smile that crosses his face as he laughs could light up the entire room. 

“See? It’s stuff like that. That’s what makes me–” he stops himself, looking over at you with absolute _adoration_ and you can’t help but grin back at him. “That’s the kind of thing that makes me crazy about you.” He says, finishing his thought. 

You manage to get yourself and Dean dressed again before Sam comes back, even though Dean steals a few kisses that leave your blood singing in the process, sending you the most incredible looks from across the room. You feel almost giddy, wondering if this is going to be how it is from now on. 

The next day, the three of you finally salt and burn the bones keeping a few ghosts in poor Mrs. Wallace’s house, and then it’s time to hit the road. Sam suggests that you head back to the Bunker with them to get some R&R, and you hum vaguely, not really agreeing.

Den meets your eyes in the rear view mirror, his body tensing. Back at the hotel, Sam seems to sense a shift in the mood, and heads back to the room to “clean up”, giving you and Dean some privacy. 

“He’s real subtle.” Dean grumbles, but you can see the way he’s trying not to smile. 

You sway closer to him. “Not sure when I can get down to the Bunker next. I need to check on some things.” You tell him, and he tilts his head, curious. There’s still a lot he doesn’t know about you, and you shake your head, not wanting to get into it. 

“It’s a long story. I have some friends back in Detroit who I need to check in with. Might take me a few days to get there and back.” 

Dean reaches out a hand, tugging you in so you’re standing between his legs as he leans against the Impala. “Be careful. Stay sharp.” He says, his eyes soft as they alternate between meeting yours and landing on your mouth.

“Always do.” 

“Don’t be a stranger. Please.” 

You nod, and press one last kiss to his mouth, a slow one that fills you up and makes you want to do something stupid, like tell him you’re half in love with him already. “I’ll call you when I’m on my way.” 

“If I don’t hear from you in a week, I’m coming to get you myself.” He says, and you roll your eyes.

“I can handle myself.” 

“I know.” Dean says, smiling at you. “Just humor me, okay?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. I better get going.” You give him one last hug and a kiss, and that’s when Sam comes back outside, fidgeting like he isn’t sure if he interrupted. “See you around, Sammy.” You say, laughing when he picks you right up off your feet, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

You watch them grow smaller and smaller in the rear view mirror as you drive off, and you’re already counting the seconds until you can come back to see them again. To see him. 


End file.
